


Circus Isle

by evanlinge



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:58:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanlinge/pseuds/evanlinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Namikaze Minato spends the night wandering the festive-bright streets of a drunken city, the edges of his vision blurred with the illusion of sobriety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Circus Isle

 

 

* * *

 

 

The weather in Fire Country is uncommonly hot during the summer months of the year. A humid, sweltering heat made oppressive by the bright sunshine. Jiraiya seems mostly unaffected by it, light currents of chakra regulating his core temperature. Minato reasons that his teacher’s refusal show him the technique is just sadistic incentive for him to figure it out on his own.

 

Minato's been apprenticed to Jiraiya for long enough to acquiesce gracefully when he suggests they stop for the night in Tanzaku City – “Celebrations Minato,” Jiraiya-sensei cajoles, “they'll do you some good.” – at the height of some fortnight-long holiday.

 

Minato lies on the edge of his futon in the rented room, watching Jiraiya browse what could either be classified information or perverse literature, sipping at his cup of sake in the dim half-light. His large fingers look strange against the small cup, a study in contrasts of delicate ceramic and the firm lines of Jiraiya’s big hands. He sets down the saucer in exchange for a fine-edged paint brush. Minato shifts again, sweat beading on his back as he idly frowns at how Jiraiya lounges leisurely in spite of the temperature.

 

 _“ –and I don't doubt that you’ve already dissected the core regulation technique several times over, but that isn’t the point, kid,”_ Jiraiya-sensei had smirked. _“an exercise in endurance, you could say.”_

 

The stifling heat prickles at the back of his neck and down his thighs as the sheets drag against his skin and Minato bites back a moan. He feels light-headed, the sounds of intoxicated merry-making seeming distant against the soft scratch of ink and paper from Jiraiya’s brush.

 

It's too hot – chakra flickers under Minato's skin and he wonders if the sheer pleasure of escaping the heat would be worth Jiraiya's ensuing annoyance. Instead he wishes he could slither out of his clothes, and press himself into the cool floorboards near his mentor’s half-full sake bottle. He imagines the ink from Jiraiya's brush pooling across his skin, curling down his ribs in stark, black, rivulets–

 

“– _Minato,_ ” Jiraiya is saying, a strange inflection in his tone when Minato turns feverish, hazy-blue eyes on the Sannin. The expensive sake smells wonderful from where he lays, barely countered by the fact that he despises the taste. “ _It’s this vile heat,”_ Minato thinks, arching into the sheets. There’s a warm flush on his cheeks when Jiraiya stares back at him curiously.

 

“Go on, kid,” Jiraiya says a moment later, “the festival is a little farther down the road, and you look like you could use some air.”

 

Minato slides off the futon and into his sandals, feeling Jiraiya’s gaze on his back all the whiles as he moves towards the window.

 

“I won’t be too long, Sensei,” He murmurs, listening for the Sannin’s grunt of approval before he drops out the window and onto street below.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The heavy press of bodies and drunken laughter is distracting as Minato slips through the crowd, his conspicuous shinobi head-band left with his teacher.

 

He senses the nearly predatory scrutiny on him as he drifts by the casinos and pleasure houses, near the fair grounds and circus arena. The colourful mixture of scents and sounds is dizzying, combined with the glittering lights and shadows that surround row after row of decorated tents. The air is thick and alluring with the lingering traces of festive hedonism.

 

One large tent in particular is cloaked by the incandescent streaks of a subtle _genjutsu_ , blending with the heat into compelling abstraction. The heavy drapes shift when Minato follows the shadows into the tent. It's dark inside, all sights and sounds from outside dampened by foreign chakra and the heady scent of incense and wine. An empty cage hangs from the main support, illuminated by paper lamps hiding a soft orange light. The drapes flutter again as a shadow emerges, dressed in the flowing robes of a circus physic. Her hair is a muted red under the paper lanterns.

 

“Here to have your future read,” the shadow enquires, surveying him from grey eyes beneath lowered lashes. It isn't a question. The off-white stone on her brow gleams against dark skin. Minato has no need for some false clairvoyant's input on his future.

 

“Yes,” he says. The empty cage rattles.

 

He faces her, sensing the strange chakra which swirls in wisps around the cage. Her hands falter over his eyelids and then drift down his face to trace his lips and the flush painted on his cheekbones.

 

“ _Shinobi_ child,” she says, unsurprised. “What sort of demon will you become?” She doesn't touch him but he thinks her hands would be cold against his skin, across his ribs and down his spine. Minato feels her jerk beside him, and the _genjutsu_ fracture and tighten sharply around them. He almost wonders what she's seen. The cage rattles as his hand drifts to the table, fingers finding a sharp pointed end of a sealing-brush.

 

_Uzumaki Chiyako, one of the fallen Uzushiogakure’s survivors. No formal ninja training, proficient in chakra draining seals and wordless genjutsu. Wanted for the murder of the Fire Daimyo’s youngest son. Status unknown._

 

Minato does not dare use chakra against her. It will only feed the _genjutsu;_ but although he does not have Jiraiya-sensei's raw strength, he has enough speed to make up for it, and the point of the sealing brush plunges into her left eye-socket and soft brain tissue just as her hand whips out to meet him.

 

Nearly-black blood drips down his fingers, sliding down his wrist. He drops the brush even as she twitches and grasps at his clothes, sticky with the heat and incense. The body slumps to the floor when he moves, and the illusion surrounding the cage dissipates when he opens it.

 

A large, dark crow caws at him, feathers gleaming glossy black as it lights upon his shoulder. Its claws dig at his skin when it surveys the room with unnerving intensity, before fluttering down to it’s dead mistress. Its eyes appear that same muted red in the flickering light, and Minato turns and walks away when the bird begins to peck at the corpse’s mutilated face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Minato wanders along the winding paths that lead through the circus, past the magicians and acrobats, by the clowns and fire breathing men peddling their tricks to foolish civilians. He blends in with them, the circus folk and drunken civilians alike, a slight _genjutsu_ blurring their memories of him afterwards. The heat is thick in his throat, and he winces with every breath as his vision wavers.

 

A small summon is following him – “ _Jiraiya-sensei_ ”, he thinks unbidden, imagining his teacher's broad shoulders and how the brightly coloured toads suit him – and he stops to pick up the diamond-backed snake that curls around his ankle. A powerful chakra signature flickers behind him.

 

“I see you’ve made short work of my foolish team mate’s habits, Minato-kun,” Orochimaru smiles as the little snake hisses contentedly at its master.

 

“I doubt it will become a habit, Orochimaru-san. Jiraiya-sensei seemed to think a night off would do me good,” Minato offers, allowing the cool, dry hand to rest on his arm as Orochimaru's amber eyes take in his bloodied wrist and shoulder.

 

“An eventful night, it would seem.”

 

Minato shrugs unconcernedly as Orochimaru gathers his chakra for a joint _Body Flicker_.

 

“With all their celebrations, I’d be surprised if they remember me at all,” Minato remarks.

 

A large black crow caws in the distance as they vanish.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Minato wakes to find the sweltering heat from last night abating, and Jiraiya leaning against the wall beside his head, looking bemused. “Orochimaru tells me that you had quite the evening.”

 

“Nothing in comparison to yours, I’d assume,” he answers, surprised to find his head clear. Minato looks up at his mentor in surprise, but Jiraiya is already laughing, turning to pick up his pack.

 

“I figured your hangover from Gamabunta’s drinking contest was bad enough for three. No need for you to be irritable while we travel to boot. Get dressed, kid, and maybe you can show me that new jutsu you’ve been working on.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_In the morning as he watches his eccentric mentor, Minato wonders if it's merely a product of his imagination, that everything tastes like expensive sake and blood-ink._

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
